For little Noor the sound of laughter
Died away a moment after
Fireball devoured the room
And turned it to a fiery tomb
With Noor beneath a smoldering rafter.
One moment, swishing silver taffeta,
Mom and dad embraced and chaffed her
Sister, wrapped in heaven’s bloom
For little Noor.
Then, death! Lord, how the breathing have to
Pick themselves up from disaster
Every trial sacred womb
That bears them out to weather doom
There is no golden globe or bafta
For little Noor
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